


like a good pair of headphones

by profesh_hipster



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Abusive Relationships, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 20:56:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15445686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profesh_hipster/pseuds/profesh_hipster
Summary: Will knows that being gay is a sin before he even knows what it is.





	like a good pair of headphones

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'ed, an edited version might go up later
> 
> check the end notes for content warnings, abusive relationships and homophobic language live here I'm so sorry
> 
> title from "headphones" by walk the moon

Will knows that being gay is a sin before he even knows what it is. Pastor Chris at church always says “gay” like it’s dirty. “Homosexual” is even worse, like a curse. They never talk about what it means during service, but Will knows it’s bad, that he should never do it. Being gay means you go to Hell. He has nightmares about going to Hell that wake him up in the middle of the night. He’ll do anything to avoid going to Hell.

Will is maybe eight, watching TV from the couch while his mother fusses over his dad’s blankets as he sleeps on the recliner. On the show, two girls kiss, and Will feels his stomach roll, but he can’t pinpoint why.

He makes a noise when it happens, like a ‘huh’ or a ‘hm’, and his mother looks over and her lip physically curls up in disgust. “Billy, what are you watching?” She sounds horrified.

“I don’t know, Ma,” he starts, wincing when it comes out defensive.

“Psalm 101:3, Billy.  _ I will not look with approval on anything that is vile _ ,” she quotes. “Now turn that awful show off. Don’t you have homework? Your father’s trying to sleep.”

Something clicks in his brain then, and he slinks back to his room.

 

\--

 

It’s an insult next, whispered and pointed and laughed out behind teachers’ backs. It’s always for little things. Lacing your hockey skates the wrong way, cutting the crust off your sandwiches, turning in your homework on time. But those are the gateways, Will knows. Hell is right around the corner, and it’s full of boys who kiss other boys and turn in their homework.

Will is careful. He laces his skates exactly the same as the other boys, packs his own lunches, stops doing his homework.

He fits in.

 

\--

 

Will’s dad dies when he’s 13. It’s not a shock, really. He’d been sick for a long time--longer than Will could remember. Something with his muscles, or his pancreas, or his kidneys. Maybe all of them.

That doesn’t mean it sucks any less.

Will cries a lot at school. His grades slip more than they already have. He fits in less. Nobody really wants to be friends with the weird, weepy redhead with the dead dad. Except one kid, Josh Skinner. He’s in almost all of Will’s 7th grade classes, and they sit together in all of them. At lunch, too, and on the bus.

Josh is smaller than Will, an only child but the other boys say that they think his parents wanted him to be a girl, so they let him dress like one. He wears nice clothes, Will thinks. Doesn’t say it.

Rumors fly. Josh’s family is from New York City, and everyone in their tiny Maine town knows that they voted for Obama in the election. What is he doing hanging out with that good Christian boy, Will Poindexter? It can’t be good.

His mom confronts him when Josh’s mom asks if Will can spend the night next Friday.

“Billy,” she sits him down at the kitchen table. She has her serious-talk face on. “Have you been spending time with that Josh Skinner boy?”

Will shrugs. “I guess.”

She frowns. “That boy is a bad influence, Billy. I don’t want you spending your time with him. His family doesn’t even go to church! Second John 1:10 says  _ If anyone comes to your meeting and does not teach the truth about Christ, don’t invite that person into your home or give any kind of encouragement. _ Think about that verse for tonight, Billy.”

Will tries to spend less time with Josh, he really does. But Josh is all he can think about, it feels like. His hair (blond, like sunshine), his eyes (piercing blue), how he loaned Will his jacket and it smells like him. He catches himself thinking about what it would be like to kiss Josh while wearing his jacket around the house one night, and Will physically recoils.

He’s not…. _ that _ . He can’t even think the word.

He gives the jacket back the next day, and tries his best to take his mother's advice. He sees Josh less, but at least he's not going to Hell.

 

\--

 

Will has fully repressed any less-than-straight feelings by 16, which is conveniently when things get bad at home. Well, they weren't good to start, but they get worse.

His mom believes that drinking and smoking are sins, but there’s nothing about micromanaging in the Bible, so that’s how she gets her fix. Will’s every minute is planned out. He has school, hockey practice, church on Wednesdays and Sundays, colleges to think about, and no time to do what he wants.

They fight about it. He loves his mom, really, but he’s not there so she can live a proper youth vicariously through him. He knows her childhood wasn't ideal, but that doesn't mean she has to make his all that hers wasn't. He yells things along these lines at her, and she screams back about Proverbs 1:8,  _ Honor thy father and  _ (most importantly)  _ mother _ . The first time she slaps him is a particularly bad fight about a missing assignment in his English class. He doesn’t dare hit back.

It just gets worse after that. He gets a job at the docks to spend less time at home because the bruises on his arms are starting to become noticeable. His grades slip, and the hockey coach pulls him aside one day. He’s missing too much work, so he’s failing English, history, science, and math. He’s kicked off the team.

His mom’s not happy. He goes to school the next day with a black eye, broken nose, and a limp. He thinks teachers are supposed to ask questions about sudden, suspicious injuries, but it’s not like any of them are paid enough to care.

Again, no one really wants anything to do with the weird, skinny redhead who got kicked off the hockey team. So it comes as a bit of a surprise when he’s walking back to his history class from the bathroom when someone pulls him backwards into the book storage closet down the hall from his teacher’s classroom. Whoever it is crowds him against the door and clicks the lock, then licks into his mouth, hands roaming up from Will’s hips to his spine.

Will freezes, eyes closed, body pressed flush with the door behind him. Whoever this is, they’re clearly male, from what he can feel pressing against him. He forces his eyes open and his hands up and shoves the guy off, just a fraction of an inch. It’s Josh, from middle school. Will has tried not to notice him over the last years, not successfully. He’s filled out, grown up. His hair is cut shorter now, and Will’s hand makes an aborted motion to run his fingers through it. Josh blinks back at him, his lips parted in a soft smile. Will’s eyes flit away to stare at the hundreds of copies of  _ The Pilgrim’s Progress _ lining the shelves.

They haven’t spoken in at least two years. Will has caught Josh eyeing him in class or the lunchroom from time to time, but that’s been the extent of their interactions. So this is a bit of a surprise.

“What are you doing?” Will asks, still staring at the spines of  _ The Pilgrim’s Progress _ . It comes out less defensive than he means it.

Josh smiles. “I didn’t know how to….. I was worried about you,” he finally finishes, brushing his hand over where there’s the edge of a bruise peeking out from under Will’s shirt sleeve. He leans forward and kisses Will again, bites at his lip. Will finds himself pushing forward into the kiss, looping his arms around Josh’s neck. He hears one of them groan into the kiss.

It's sloppy; neither of them have experience with this. It doesn't stop them.

Will pulls back. “Josh, I...I’m not…” He’s not sure how to finish his sentence.

“Okay,” he says, smiling. Josh leans back in to kiss him, and Will doesn’t stop him.

 

\--

 

Will’s sure his mother can tell when he gets home. He can feel her judgement in waves.

He knows there isn’t any...physical evidence of the events this afternoon. But he knows how his feet skid on the carpet give him away. The way his eyes skate over the tv faster than usual. How he says “hi” instead of “hey.”

“Billy, how was school?” his mom asks. She’s chopping onions for dinner tonight. She doesn’t look up at him. She  _ knows _ . She never asks about school. He feels his stomach sink, waiting on the inevitable screaming match. He can pack a bag in less than five minutes, and Josh will probably let him stay until he can find a place.

He flushes, thinking about the book storage closet. “It was fine, Ma.”

“How are your classes going?” She forcefully cuts into an onion. He winces when the knife hits the cutting board.

“They’re fine, Ma.” He tries to end it there; he just wants to go into his room and try to deal with his giant gay panic that he’s been repressing for three years.

She still doesn’t look up. “I got a call from your history teacher today.” She says it with a slightly harsher than normal  _ clip _ into the onion.

His stomach drops. She knows, she  _ has _ to know. He stares at the knife in her hand, suddenly sure that these are his last moments alive. Forget staying with Josh, he’s going to be killed here and now and buried in the backyard. He’s going to die and go to Hell for getting off with a boy in a book storage closet full of the least subtle allegory ever written.

“Ma, I--” His mind races. He can feel the panic rising; he chokes it down. He needs to get to his room, needs to get his things packed for when he leaves.

She finally looks at him, still holding the knife. “Billy, she said you’re still failing. And you skipped class today?”

He fumbles for words. “I--”

“No, I don’t want to hear it, Billy!” She brandishes the knife in his direction, and he shrinks back. “You’ll go to your room and finish your homework. And I expect your grades to come up by next report card.” She gives him the look that means  _ or else _ as she lets the knife trail dangerously close to his stomach.

He goes to his room, sure that she’s waiting for the right moment. She knows and she’s just waiting for him to fall asleep, so she can send him to his rightful place in Hell while he dreams of Josh’s mouth on his.

He doesn’t sleep.

 

\--

 

Josh pulls him into the book closet again the next week, and Will throws up all over himself, Josh, and  _ The Pilgrim’s Progress,  _ thinking about his mother walking in on them. They stop meeting after that, but Will catches Josh giving him cautious looks in the lunchroom, or on the bus. Will thinks his eyes might catch on the bruises peeking out from under his collar and sleeves, but he never says anything. It’s for the better.

Will barely finishes junior year. They tell him that during senior year, he’ll have to repeat all of English on a computer and a semester of advanced algebra with a class of juniors, since he failed so spectacularly, but it’s fine. He’s fine. His senior year will be fine.

Senior year isn’t fine. Josh’s family moved away over the summer, so he has no friends, he gets fired from his job at the docks for never showing up on time, and his mom ups their church attendance from twice a week to five times. The more she goes, the angrier she gets, it seems like. Will starts getting better at coming up with excuses for his injuries.

The year drags on. It’s a mixture of sleeping through class, staying away from home as long as possible, and whatever you can call his relationship with his mother. She’s convinced that he’ll attend Bob Jones University in the fall. She’s prayed about it. She sent in an application for him; dug through his old papers for an essay that meets their requirements. She nearly breaks his arm when he gets rejected. He didn’t try hard enough, he knows.

He finishes the year, but barely. He suspects his teachers were told to pass him, even though he hadn’t passed any assignment throughout the year. They needed to bring up the graduation rate, something like that.

The days leading up to graduation, Will thinks that this will be the rest of his life. He’ll stay in Small Town, Maine, for the rest of his life. He’ll get a job in the next town over, maybe. Move out when he has enough money. The thought causes bile to rise in his throat. He swallows it down.

Josh calls him out of nowhere, the day before graduation. Will wasn’t even sure Josh still had his number. “Hey, Will,” he says. There’s loud music in the background of the call.

“Hi,” Will says, short. He doesn’t realize how angry he is about Josh leaving, about getting out, until he hears his voice on the other end of the phone.

“How are you?”

Will shrugs. He’s walking along the beach, avoiding going home. His mom’s been in a mood lately. “I’m graduating tomorrow.”

“So, what are you doing after you graduate?” He asks it like he has a follow-up, not in the small talk kind of way.

“I don’t know. I’ll probably stay here--”

“Don’t.” Josh cuts him off. He makes a surprised sound, like he didn’t mean to say it.

The line is silent for a good minute. Will sits on the pebbles lining the beach, sighing. He waits for Josh to keep talking.

“Look, Will.” Josh sighs. Will can imagine him running a hand through his hair. He flexes his fingers, remembering that one day. He suddenly feels sick. “I don’t know everything that’s going on with you. That went on with you. But I know you’re not happy there.” He lets the words sit out there. Will imagines them sitting out on the shore and the waves crashing over them. “My, um. My parents know a guy in Boston. They went to college with him, or something. I don’t know. He owns a store, but he needs someone to manage it for him.”

Will is quiet. “Okay,” he says, careful not to let any emotion out in his voice.

“And my mind went to you. We’re here now, in Boston I mean. The guy is nice; you’d like him.”

His mind latches onto the words: escape. For the first time, he embraces the possibility of not living here. Of not living with his mother. His stomach rolls suddenly, violently. He feels tears start to well up in his eyes. “Josh,” his voice quavers, “I can’t.” His mom will kill him.

“Why not? You don’t have to tell anyone, Will. Besides, I already told the guy about you. He’s excited to meet you.”

Will is silent for a moment. “I mean, can I think about it?”

“Of course, Will. Take your time. I’ll text you.”

They hang up, and Will’s phone buzzes with a text from Josh a minute later. There’s a name (Kevin), an address in Boston, and a phone number, along with the message  _ Congrats, btw :) _

 

\--

 

Will doesn’t sleep that night.

When his dad died, he left Will his truck. He’s not sure it can make a five hour and change drive, but at least it’s May, so there’s no snow on the roads, and it’s above 60 outside. He doesn’t have a lot of stuff. Some clothes, his shitty computer, the money he’s saved over the past couple years. He packs it without thinking about his mother’s reaction to this. He’s not sure when he actually decides he’s leaving, but his car is packed by 2 a.m., and he’s on the road at 2:30.

He skips his own graduation and never looks back.

 

\--

 

He shows up at the address Josh sent him at 8 a.m. He didn’t call ahead, so the store is closed. Pretty much everything on the street is. There’s a little bench on the sidewalk near the store, so Will crashes there. He doesn’t realize how tired he is until he’s sitting. He drifts off.

Someone wakes him up what must be several hours later. A man about his mother’s age looks at him from in front of the store. “You all right, son?”

Will blinks sleepily, sitting up. “Are you Kevin?”

The man considers him for a moment, then. “You must be Will.” He smiles kindly. “You look exhausted. Come on in.”

There’s an apartment above the store, the entrance in an alley between that store and the next, which Kevin shows him to. Tells him to get some rest.

Will checks his phone before he lies on the bed. 7 missed calls from his mother. Several texts from her. He doesn’t open them. He feels the panic rising in his chest. He does the first thing his brain comes to: he turns the phone off, hides it under the mattress. Forgets about it.

 

\--

 

Kevin starts Will at running the store the next day. It’s a little record store on a corner downtown. Most of Will’s responsibilities are pretty simple; it’s just math, thankfully the kind he could do. Kevin sticks around for the first month or so, shows him how to pay the bills, how to cut himself a paycheck, how to run the store. They interview and hire a girl to work with him part time, Riley. After that, he leaves Will to run the store on his own, for the most part. He apparently has other shit to do. Will thinks that maybe Kevin shouldn’t leave his store in the hands of an eighteen year old almost-drop-out, but who is he to tell other people how to live their lives?

With his first paycheck, he finds a tattoo parlor and gets the date he left home tattooed on his wrist. The girl who does the tattoo has a ring through her nose--a septum piercing, he learns--and he asks can she give him one of those too. It hurts like a bitch, but he smiles at himself in the mirror. His mother would have a heart attack. A bible verse pops into his head when the girl shows him the mirror:  _ Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own, for you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body. _ Fuck that.

The thought pops into his head before he can stop it, but he finds that he doesn’t want to, really.

The girl says his freckles would look nice with a tattoo like hers, and she points to the geometric bear tattoo on her shoulder. He flushes and tips her as much as he can. She hands him her number as he’s getting cleaning stuff for his tattoo and piercing, and he feels his face flush more red than maybe it’s ever been.

He hands the slip of paper back to her, and his heartbeat is roaring in his ears when he says. “Um, thanks, but I’m, um. I’m gay.”

The girl smiles, says, “Oh, okay. Take it anyway, we can be friends. Text me,” and Will feels a bit of the weight lift off his shoulders for the first time in eighteen years.

 

\--

 

He meets Seth probably six months after his tattoo. They meet at a bar and Will is drunk. He’d checked his old phone, the one he came with, on some strange whim today, and his mother had texted him:  _ Billy, where are you? _ And  _ I love you _ and then,  _ Don’t bother coming back _ . 

Seth is attractive in a way no one has really been to Will before. He has dark hair and darker eyes, and tattoos crawl up his arms and under his sleeves in a way that makes Will want to see all of him. He’s interested in Will in a way that makes him feel warm and wanted. Will sits with him in a booth at the bar, and Seth’s arm curls around his waist, possessive. It makes something settle in his stomach, low and warm and happy.

It’s good at first, really good. Will thinks that maybe this is the first time he’s been wanted. Seth all but moves in to the apartment above the store. Will has friends, he has a boyfriend, he has a job. This is the happiest he’s ever been.

He and Seth get tattoos together for their first month anniversary. They coordinate, and Will can’t help but smile and think of how horrified his mother would be. Seth’s is an arrow, Will’s a bow that stretches across his forearm. Three months later, he gets a geometric lion roaring across his shoulder. It makes him think of his mother, not in a bad way. Seth convinces him to get more piercings: one in his eyebrow, two adjacent ones in his lip. He gets dark studs in his ears. Seth says it’s hot, but Will just enjoys that his mother would hate it.

On the one year anniversary of moving to Boston, Will doesn’t open the store. Seth asks what happened. He’s asked about the date tattoo before, but Will is nothing if not proud of his ability to redirect.

“It’s nothing,” he tries this time, rolling over in bed. The clock reads 11:02 a.m. He thinks about telling Seth, about the phone that’s still under the mattress, and his breath catches in his throat in an aborted attempt at panic.

Seth’s not having it. “Babe.” He’s quiet for a moment, then, “I tell you everything about me.”

Will feels the guilt rolling in his stomach. It’s true, Seth has been great. He’s always honest, why shouldn’t he be? He tells Seth everything, quietly panicking. Seth kisses him, hard, when he finishes. Will still feels the panic in his chest, but it settles just a little. Takes a back seat to the sensation of Seth’s mouth on his.

“Fuck her,” Seth says, about his mom. He searches under the bed for the old phone and pulls it out. He grins at Will deviously as he walks across the apartment to the kitchen, opens the microwave, and sticks the phone in. “Will, it’s been a year. Move the fuck on.” And he microwaves the phone until it explodes.

 

\--

 

The thing is, Will doesn’t know how to exist outside of being a victim.

Seth is great, he really is, but maybe it’s because the only knowledge he has of someone being in a relationship is his mother, who nearly broke his arm and did break his nose, that he doesn’t notice it.

He thinks he had other friends before Seth. That girl from the tattoo shop who he hung out with a few times, regulars at the record shop. After Seth, they all sort of disappear from his life. They’re replaced with lazy Sunday mornings in bed and nights at loud, blaring concerts where Seth knows the bouncer, so they get in for free. Will doesn’t enjoy the concerts all that much, but the look he gets from Seth when he tries to stay home is so similar to the one his mother gave him on Sundays when he was still asleep when it was time to leave for church that he just panics and goes.

But Seth is so good, Will keeps telling himself. He hasn’t thought about his mother since the first anniversary, and it’s well past the third, now. It wouldn’t be fair to Seth to what, leave? Kick him out? He thinks that maybe they’ll get married soon, and Kevin said that he’s thinking about giving Will the store.

Will tells himself that if Seth ever hits him, he’ll stand his ground. That’ll be the end of it. He doesn’t think it’ll ever happen, or at least he keeps telling himself that.

They get into a fight, not their first, at one of Seth’s shows. Will is at the bar, waiting for Seth so he can go home. When someone bumps into him, he apologizes, catches Will eye, and grins toothily.

“Buy you a drink?” the guy asks.

Will shrugs, a worried thought for Seth passing through his mind, but before the guy can get the bartender’s attention, Seth is there.

“The fuck is your problem?” Seth doesn’t wait for a response before he punches the guy square in the face. He’s drunk, Will can tell from the way he sways back after the punch lands.

They get kicked out, and Will quietly digs his nails into his palms on their way back to the apartment. When Seth snatches the keys out of his hand, Will blurts out, “I can take care of myself.”

He hears Seth exhale loudly through his nose. “Babe, I don’t wanna do this.” He opens the door and tries to pull Will into a kiss as he stumbles inside.

Will sinks into the kiss briefly, then stops. “Fuck, Seth, you can’t just--”

“What, Will? Stop some asshole from hitting on you?” He frowns, and Will is struck with the familiar guilt rolling in his stomach. He thinks it’s been there since his dad got sick, probably.

Will rolls his eyes, pushing past Seth and further into the apartment. “Whatever, you’re drunk. Go to sleep.”

Seth gives him a calculating look, then strips down to his boxers and collapses into the bed. He rolls over and doesn’t look at Will, doesn’t invite him to bed. Will considers sleeping on the couch, but fuck it--this is his apartment, not Seth’s. It’s his bed. He climbs in next to Seth and drifts off eventually.

A noise wakes him up too soon. He glances at the clock; it reads 3:34 a.m. They’d gotten back maybe two hours ago, and he’d fallen asleep around 2. “What the fuck,” he groans.

The noise starts up again. There’s a loud  _ bang _ from the door, and his phone ringing from his pile of clothes. The back of Seth’s hand hits him in the chest. “Babe, your phone. The door,” he says, his voice sleep thick.

Will groans and rolls out of bed, right as the pounding on the door renews. He stumbles to his pile of clothes and digs out his phone, not glancing at the caller I.D. before he answers.

“What,” he says. It’s not a question.

“Billy.”

His stomach drops, and he tastes bile in his mouth. He’s frozen; he can’t hang up, but he can’t say anything, either.

“Billy, would you come outside?” She sounds different, he thinks. But that might be how exhausted he is.

He hangs up, pulls on the first shirt he finds, which he’s pretty sure is Seth’s band shirt from the show, and heads to the door. He pulls it open, glaring.

“How did you get here?” His eyes land on his mother’s face, and he almost throws up then and there. She looks the same, but there are bags under her eyes. She looks tired. She smiles, her eyes catching on Will’s piercings, the tattoos she can see on his arms.

“Billy, it’s so good to see you,” she says, reaching out to rub his bicep. He flinches away, standing under the doorframe, a good five feet away from her. Her breath smells like whiskey, he thinks.

“Have you been drinking?” he asks, surprising himself. It's not like he cares. Well, that's what he's been telling himself.

She looks away. “I’ve missed you.”

It’s been three and a half years, Will thinks. What makes her want to come now? He wants to push her back off the stair landing where she’s standing, hurt her for all the times she hurt him. “What are you doing here? How did you get my number?” Is what he says instead.

“Chis,” Will categorizes this as the pastor at church, “was in Boston last year. He saw you working in the store downstairs. He let me know. So here I am.” It doesn't explain how she got his number. She sways. She’s definitely drunk. What the fuck. “I’ve just missed my boy so much.” He can hear the tears in her voice.

Part of Will’s brain processes that she learned where he was a  _ year _ ago. He pushes it aside. “What do you want to get?” He raises his voice. “By coming here, I mean.” He crosses his arms. “I left, Ma. You sent me ‘ _ Don’t bother coming back _ ’ and you expect me to just welcome you back into my life?” He’s yelling by the end of it, and he thinks too late that maybe he should have shut the door. He can hear Seth mumbling something inside, shuffling around.

“Billy, I messed up. I’m s--”

Will points to his nose, which is slightly crooked from where she broke it when he was sixteen. “You’re what, sorry? You broke my nose, Ma.” He almost starts listing things, but he hears Seth making his way to the door. His stomach rolls with anticipation.

A shirtless Seth comes up behind Will, running a hand through Will’s hair in some unnecessary display of possession. “Babe, what’s going on?” He gives Will’s mother a judgemental once-over.

The color drains from his mother’s face. “Billy, who is--”

“This is Seth. My boy...he’s my boyfriend.” Will stumbles over the word at first, looking down out of habit.

His mother is silent, then: “What?” She screams it, and Will winces, sinks back into Seth’s chest.

The punch doesn’t really come as a surprise, but it still hurts. Will knows by now that she was probably aiming for his nose or his eye--those were the usual targets in high school--but the alcohol in her system makes the punch sloppy, so it lands square on his mouth, making his lip piercings clang into his teeth uncomfortably.

He’s a little stunned from the punch, so he’s not clear on what’s said next. He hears the words “queer” and “faggot” and “burn in Hell,” and suddenly Seth is shoving her up against the stair railing, screaming in her face and punching her in the gut. Will manages to get a hold of himself, despite the sharp taste of blood in his mouth, and pull Seth off his mother and back into the apartment.

“Get the fuck out of here! I’ll call the cops if I see you again!” Seth screams as Will closes the door.

“Come on, Seth,” he says. “Let’s go back to bed.”

 

\--

 

He tries to sleep, but he can feel Seth awake next to him.

“Who was that?” Seth asks after a minute.

  
“I don’t wanna talk about it, Seth.” Will pulls the covers over his neck, wincing at the pain in his mouth.   
  
“Answer me, Will.” There’s a warning tone in his voice that makes Will respond.   
  
“My mom.”   
  
“And you let her talk to you like that? You just got mad at me because you can ‘stand up for yourself’, and now this shit?”   
  
“How is that the issue right now? She just punched me in the mouth and called me a faggot. My lip is still bleeding.”   
  
“Yeah, and I had to have your back about it,” Seth says, clearly angry now. “Why can't you stand up for yourself?”   
  
Will sits up and turns in bed to look at him, crossing his arms. “And that shouldn’t be something you get angry about! You’re my boyfriend, for fuck’s sake, you’re supposed to have my back without it being a goddamn chore.”   
  
Seth sits up now too, the moonlight from the windows casting shadows on his chest. “I have to keep you out of trouble every damn place we go, Will. Do you know how tiring that is? To tell every damn interested guy to back the fuck off because you’re incapable of not leading people on?”   
  
“I never asked for your protection!” Will yells, crossing his arms. “I explained all the shit with my mom two years ago, so this really doesn’t need to be an issue.” It would be just like Seth to forget.   
  
Seth pushes him back off the bed, and Will lands on the floor with a thud. “It’s not my fault your issues just aren’t that memorable,  _ William _ . And don’t you ever take that tone with me. I love you,” he says, but it sounds like a threat.   
  
“Are you sure?” Will snaps before his filter stops him.   
  
Seth throws something at him, then tackles him to the floor. He punches the same place his mother had, re-opening the split lip, then lands another on his eye before Will manages to push him off and stand up.   
  
He wipes the blood from his mouth before speaking. “Leave.” He motions to the door. “You know my mom used to do shit like that. I’m not doing that again. Not with you.”   
  
Seth seems like he’s in shock. “Will, baby, I’m so sorry--” he starts, standing up and taking a halting step towards him.   
  
Will steps back. “Leave, Seth. Get out.” He’s surprised at how well he’s holding back the tears he can feel welling up.   
  
Seth pauses, then steps back. Takes a deep breath. “Fine.” He pulls on some clothes, and heads for the door. “You’ll come crawling back. They always do.” He sneers as he walks out the door.   
  
  


\--

 

Will walks into work the next day with a black eye and a split lip.

Riley, who is already there when he gets in at noon, raises an eyebrow as he walks in. “What happened to you?”

“Broke up with my boyfriend,” he says. The scab on his lip pulls as he smiles slightly.

She doesn’t ask any more questions, which is what he likes about her. They’d been working together for about the past three years, she goes to Northeastern and works here part time, and that’s all Will knows about her. That’s all he wants to know about her. She invites him out to drinks usually, when their shifts are over around the same time, but he never goes. He’s happy with-- He catches himself, about to think that he’s happy with Seth. Whom he is no longer dating. Fuck. Does he have any other friends?

It’s a slow Sunday, so he sits at the counter reading while Riley reorganizes some of the older records. He’s so involved in his book that he doesn’t hear the door swing open, or Riley greet the guy walking in. It’s a good book, and he’d had a long day yesterday. Will is somewhat aware of a conversation going on in the background between Riley and the guy, but he’s at the bottom of a page at an interesting part and really can’t bring himself to care.

There’s a cough from across the counter, and Will can see some guy wearing a red hoodie waiting on him. He holds up a finger, and the hoodie guy scoffs.

“Good book?” he asks. His sounds impatient, but like he’s pretending he’s not. Passive-aggressive. Will's stomach twinges.

Will holds up the book so the guy can see the cover. He catches a glimpse of brown skin and crossed arms while he moves the book back to lie on the counter. “Riley can help you,” he says, not taking his eyes off the page. “I’m busy.”

The guy makes an affected noise, like he’s annoyed. “She sent me to you, dude.”

Will finally looks up from the book, and sees the guy’s eyes jump from his eye to his mouth in surprise, and then schools his expression back into careful nonchalance.

“What can I help you with.” He means it as a question, but doesn’t say it like one. He gives a tight-lipped smile, feeling the scab on his lip cracking open again.

“It’s chill, man.” The guy responds with his own dazzling but somehow still polite smile, and Will is struck with the thought that  _ oh no he’s hot _ and then  _ well at least I’ll never see him again. _ “I’ll just go to Best Buy or something.” He mumbles something about local businesses and makes like he’s going to leave the store, but Will calls out, despite himself.

“Wait!”

The guy turns around, eyebrows raised in a silent question.

“Uh. I mean. Are you sure I-we can’t help?” He feels himself blushing.  _ Damn. What the fuck, he never acts like this. _

The guy looks him over, slowly, up and down. “Yeah, I’m sure.” Then he pushes the door open and leaves.

 

\--

 

He and Riley get off at the same time, so she asks him if he wants to get a drink with her and a couple friends, like she always does. He surprises himself and says yes.

She smiles widely, but takes it in stride other than that. “Great! It’s just a few people, but they’re always happy to have more people join us.

Riley’s friends are nice. They’re loud, but they don’t ask questions about Will’s black eye, split lip, or his tattoos. He sees them eying them throughout the night, but no one says anything, sober or not. He’s grateful.

By the end of the night, he’s drunk enough to have forgotten about Seth. Riley gives him her phone number “in case of emergency.” He laughs about dumb shit with them; he feels like maybe this is what it would be like to actually have friends. It’s nice while it lasts.

They all take the train separate ways home, and Seth is there, inside, when he gets home. He freezes with the door open, keys and phone still in hand.

Seth stands up. “Will, please, I’m so sorry.” He sounds sincere. When Will doesn’t say anything, he keeps going. “I never should have acted like that. I never will again. I swear. Please, baby, I’m so sorry.” He doesn’t meet Will’s eyes.

Will crosses his arms and leans against the doorway. He’s too drunk for this. “Give me your key.” He says it quietly, not totally sure of himself.

“What?” It’s flat, no emotion in the word.

Will meets Seth’s eyes now, feeling his face flush with anger. “I said give me your fucking key. It’s my apartment. Get your shit and get the fuck out.”

Seth stares at him for a minute, then rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” He throws the key down on the counter, then shoves Will out of the doorway. “I didn’t want that shit anyway.” He storms out and down the stairs.

Will closes the door behind him, sighing as the tears he’s been holding back for almost two days spill out and down his face, stinging on his split lip.

 

\--

 

The guy comes back to the store on Saturday, but this time Will is alone. Riley is sick and Kevin is out of town, and Will’s basically the only other employee they have, so it’s just him.

The store is busy, so Will is frustrated. Even more-so when this guy (whom he only recognizes because of the unfairly attractive smile he flashes at Will as he walks in) comes up to Will and tries to talk to him. About like, normal stuff. It's like he can't see the line of fifteen people he just cut in front of.

“Your eye looks better,” he starts, leaning against the edge of the counter where the customers aren’t swarming to check out items.

“Can I help you with something?” Will asks, not looking away from the register. From the corner of his eye, he can see the guy staring at his tattoos.

“I was--” the guy starts, right as someone else cuts to the front of the line and nearly starts a fist fight.

“Look,” Will cuts the guy off, turning to look at him and running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Either buy something or leave and come back when there aren’t fifteen people trying to buy shit at the same time.” He turns back to the register and finishes ringing the customer up, and when he’s finished the guy is gone.

Forty minutes later, the rush has died down and the only person left in the store is the guy. He’s holding a couple vinyls from the pop section, which he puts down on the counter with a huff.

“Hey,” he says with a smile. He’s not wearing the same hoodie today, instead wearing an army green jacket over a white t-shirt and a dark green beanie over his hair. He looks good, Will thinks. Fuck.

Will raises an eyebrow, looking at the albums. “Twenty One Pilots?” The guy seems like the furthest thing from a fan.

He rolls his eyes, clearly used to this conversation. “Look, their commentary on the transition into adulthood from being raised by a generation of adults obsessed with themselves is revolutionary. I don’t need to defend myself to you, a person I barely know.” He’s smiling by the time he finishes, though.

Will just keeps his eyebrow raised and rings up the albums.

“Look, man, I was a jerk the other day. But to be fair so were you.”

“Your total’s 43.68,” Will says, unaffected.

“And I wanted to say I’m sorry,” the guy says, stilted. He hands his card over.

“Okay,” Will says, running the card. He hands it back. “Do you want your receipt in the bag?” He places the albums in a bag and waits for the receipt to print.

“Has anyone told you that you’re terrible at keeping a conversation going?” the guy asks, leaning forward against the counter.

“My ex,” Will says, gesturing vaguely towards his face.

The guy seems to understand, biting his lower lip and wincing slightly, before looking just past Will’s shoulder to finish what he’s saying. “Um. Well, I wanted to apologize. And um, see if you wanted to get coffee?” He finishes lamely, meeting Will’s eyes briefly before looking away to the display next to the register.

Will can feel himself flush, then scowls at the thought of it. He points to his slightly fading black eye. “My  _ ex _ ,” he says pointedly, giving the guy a significant look.

He splutters, and Will imagines that if he had lighter skin, he might be blushing. “No, no. I mean like, apology coffee. Not like that.” He seems embarrassed. It doesn’t fit with his whole...persona, really.

Will considers for a moment, then shrugs. “I’m Will,” he says. It’s better than being at home, where all of Seth’s shit is.

The guy seems surprised for a moment, then quickly covers that up with a carefully unaffected look. “Chill.” He smirks to himself at the rhyme. “I’m Derek. What time do you get off?”

 

\--

 

Derek is back at 8, a lazy smirk as he waits for Will to finish closing the shop. “So how was work?” he asks as Will locks the door. He shivers, the cold air hitting him as he finally shuts the door to the shop.

“Pretty bad, some asshole asked me to get coffee with him,” Will says, not looking at him, smirking.

“Who--” Derek starts, then stops suddenly, making a noise that might be a laugh if Will were watching him. He’s quiet, then, “There’s this coffee shop that’s super chill up ahead,” he says, pointing. “They have a cat that lives in the store.” Like that makes it more “chill” or whatever.

The coffee shop is nice, Will guesses. They get their drinks, which Derek insists he pay for, and they sit by a window.

“So…” Derek starts, trails off. It’s awkward. “Do you go to college around here?”

Will narrows his eyes at the boy from over the lid of his coffee cup. “Never went.”

“Chill.” Will’s starting to think that’s his favorite word.

They sit in an awkward silence, both sipping their coffee. Will watches Derek watch him, his gaze not leaving the other’s face. Derek’s eyes flit from the bits of tattoos he can spot, to the piercings across his face, to his fading black eye. His eyes linger there the longest.

“What,” Will asks, deadpan. Defensive.

“You said your ex did that?” Derek asks, motioning slightly to his eye.

“I kicked him out for it.”

Derek’s eyebrows, the corner of his mouth, quirk up at the pronoun, just barely. “Okay,” he says.

They’re quiet again for a while. Will stares out the window, watching people walk past.

“You’re not much of a talker, are you?” Derek asks, an easy smile on his face. Will thinks that’s a good look for him. He looks relaxed. Chill.

Will lets himself smile back, still guarded. “Not really.”

The rest of their coffee not-date passes in a similar manner. Derek asks a question, Will gives a one or two word answer, and Derek just goes on about himself. It works, and Will learns he likes to listen to Derek talk. He learns that Derek goes to Samwell University, a college that’s thirty minutes from Boston. He plays on the hockey team, defense, and he’s studying English and creative writing, with a focus on poetry. He’s from New York, he has an older sister, and he’s 20, but his birthday is coming up in February. Will thinks that maybe if he’d had his shit together, they would have met a different way. He brings it up when Derek pauses.

“I used to play hockey,” he tells Derek when they’re both done with their coffee.

“No shit,” he responds. That easy smile is back. “What position?”

“Defense. Got kicked off my team in high school.”

If that surprises Derek, he doesn’t let it show. “You should come meet the team sometime,” he says, leaning back in his chair, still smiling. “That’d be super chill.”

Will smiles back.

 

\--

 

Two weeks after he kicks Seth out, Wills goes to get another tattoo. The bow on his forearm has been itching. Bothering him. He gets an arrow with flowers blooming from the end sitting inside the bow.

When he gets home, he goes through the apartment, area by area, and puts all of Seth’s shit onto the stoop outside. He sends a text:  _ your shit’s on the stairs. it’ll be in the trash tomorrow. _

He calls someone about having the locks changed, and rearranges his meager furniture.

It feels like a new beginning.

 

\--

 

Will’s nearly forgotten about Derek by the time he shows up again. This time, he’s towing another person with him, who grins broadly, braces and all, at Will as he and Derek enter the store. The new guy seems excited just to be there.

“Hi, you must be Will,” the new guy says, walking straight up to the counter. “Nursey has told me so much about you.” His grin takes on a mischievous glint as Derek looks through the newly arranged display in a rehearsed manner that tells Will he’s pretending not to listen.

Will glances at Derek, curious about the name. “Hi,” he says, glancing between the two of them.

“I’m Chris,” the new guy says, still grinning. Will thinks it probably physically hurts for someone to smile that much. “Well, everyone calls me Chowder. It’s a hockey nickname.”

They talk for a minute or two, mostly just Chris (Chowder?) talking about his life and Will listening, but it’s nice. Pleasant.

Derek interrupts when Chowder mentions the Sharks, saying, “Get to the point, Chowder.” He punctuates it by rolling his eyes as he turns back to looking through the record collection.

“Anyway,” Chowder says, smile only faltering for a minute at Derek’s interruption, “we’re having a...get together at our hockey frat--we call it The Haus--tonight, and Derek has talked so much about you,” Will raises an eyebrow at that, “and we were--I was hoping you would come. You can meet all the other guys. It’ll be fun.” Chowder finishes with still a smile.

Will looks to Derek, who is avoiding his gaze. He mumbles something, looking away.

“What?” Will asks.

“I said it looked like you could use some friends. Something to do. You know. Chill, s’not that big a deal.”

Will feels his face flush for  _ entirely _ no reason. People aren’t just nice to him for no reason. “Let me get my shift covered.” He avoids looking at Chowder or Derek, but he just catches the wide grin that flashes across Derek’s face.

 

\--

 

Derek and Chowder hang out until Riley comes to cover the store for Will. She gives him a  _ look _ when they leave, confused about these newfound friends her boss suddenly has, but Will’s not thinking about it.

The hockey frat, or the Haus, as Chowder tells Will it’s called, is a mess. There’s a green couch that looks like it’s at least as old as Will, if not older. Chowder runs upstairs to get ready, leaving Will and Derek hovering around the nasty green couch in what is probably the living room, but is currently being transformed into a dancing area by two college boys.

“Thanks for coming to hang, man,” Derek says, meeting Will’s eyes. He grins, and Will can feel the tips of his ears go pink. It’s a good look for Derek. The grinning. “We won a big game against Harvard last week and didn’t get a chance to celebrate, so it’s happening today.” He motions to the guys setting up the christmas lights in the living room. “This is Ollie and Wicks, and I bet Bitty’s in the kitchen. Come on,” he grabs Will’s wrist and pulls him through another doorway.

Will meets the entirety of the Samwell Men’s Hockey Team in the course of five minutes, and he knows he won’t remember any of their names. Derek drags him upstairs to his room after meeting probably around fifteen people.

“Sorry, they can be a lot,” Derek says as soon as the door closes. Will shrugs in response, feeling his phone buzz in his pocket. “We have like, thirty minutes before we should go downstairs,” he says, rummaging around in his closet. Will checks his phone, his stomach dropping when he sees it’s an unknown number with a Maine area code.

_ From: +12075557972  
_ _ Billy, where are you? I’m at your store and the girl working says you left. Who are you with? _

He clicks out a response, listening to Derek chatter in the background about people who will be there and how Ollie’s tub juice was never as good as someone named Shitty’s and how it would be so  _ chill _ if Will helps him beat Lardo at pong.

_ From: Me  
_ _ how did you get this number _

_ From: +12075557972  
_ _ The girl at the store gave it to me months ago. Billy, I am your mother. I deserve to know what’s happening in your life. _

He thinks he might be sick.

“Dude, you okay? You look like you’re gonna hurl,” Derek asks, poking his head around his closet door. He has a new shirt, a black v-neck halfway pulled on and Will’s eyes flick down to his abs before looking somewhere near the ceiling.

“Fine,” Will says, short. He shoves his phone back into his pocket. “You said something about alcohol?” he asks, and Derek grins again.

 

\--

 

Will’s not sure how long the party has been going, but he knows he’s drunk. Derek took his flannel and dropped it off….fuck, somewhere, a while ago, he’s dancing with Derek and he hasn’t thought about the texts from his mom since his third cup of tub juice.

His phone buzzes again in his pocket, and, not thinking, he waves to Derek, who directs him to the kitchen, where he perches on the counter and swipes across the screen to answer the call. He doesn’t look at the caller I.D.

“Billy?”

He suddenly feels more sober than ever. The sick feeling from before, in Derek’s room, comes back. He tastes bile on the back of his tongue. “Ma…” he trails off, unsure of where he was going with his thought.

“I miss you, Billy.”

The sick feeling worsens, and he struggles to catch his next breath. He spots a bottle of something alcoholic and chokes down some of it, doesn’t taste it, before he speaks. “You don’t….you don’t get to just. Say shit like that, Ma.” He can tell he’s slurring his words, and he doesn’t want to be saying these things but he hasn’t been this drunk since the beginning with Seth. “You were…I left ‘cause of you. Cause you were...an abusive bitch, you know? And you just fucking show up at my apartment and call me and my boyfriend faggots? And tell me we’re going to Hell? Fuck that, Ma.” He can’t seem to stop the words spilling from his mouth. The room starts to spin as the liquor he drank hits him all at once. He slides from the countertop to the kitchen floor, leaning sloppily against the cabinets.

“ _ Truthful lips endure forever _ , Billy,  _ but a lying tongue is but for a moment _ . That’s what--”

“No, don’t you dare fucking quote Proverbs to me.” He hates that he still knows the reference for the verse she just quoted. Hates that this is such a part of him. “You don’t get to be part of my life.” His chest aches with something as he says that.

“I researched some programs. Programs for people like you Billy, who have...unsavory tastes. You can still--” He feels the bile rise up again suddenly, and he throws the phone across the room with as much force as he can. It slams into a framed painting hanging on the opposite wall and shatters the glass with a loud  _ crash _ . Will pulls himself up and barely makes it before he’s retching into the sink, dry heaving once his stomach is empty.

Someone pokes their head into the kitchen at the sound, then there’s some commotion, then a warm hand in the center of Will’s back. He flinches as it lands, dry heaving again, then coughing into the sink, bracing himself on his elbows.

“Are you okay, honey?” It’s the short blond one, Bitty he thinks.

Will can feel his breath start to come in short gasps and his knees buckle. BItty manages to catch him and slide him to the floor more comfortably.

“I’ll take that as a no, then,” he says, sliding down to sit next to Will. Close, but not touching. “You’re gonna be okay, Will,” he says, his voice just barely loud enough to be heard over the booming music from the main room. Will aches at the comfort of it.

“‘M sorry,” Will mumbles after a while, he’s not sure how long, his breath still coming too fast, the room still spinning and blurry from tears he didn’t know he was crying. He hopes his phone is broken, or his mom hung up.

“Oh honey,” Bitty says, putting a hand on Will’s knee and squeezing lightly. “You have nothing to apologize for.” He stands briefly and comes back with some paper towels, which he hands to Will. “Now, do you want me to stay here, or should I fetch Nursey? Derek, I mean.”

Will wipes his eyes and tries to take a few breaths. His heart is still pounding, but his breathing is under control. He thinks. “My phone,” he says instead, motioning to the mess across the room.

Bitty raises an eyebrow. “Now what happened there?” he asks, sounding frustrated.

“Threw my phone, hit the thing. Sorry,” Will says, leaning his head against the cabinet behind him. He feels Bitty get up, then hears him cluck his tongue when he must find the phone.

“You’ve got some texts, all of ‘em from a random number.”

“Delete them,” Will says immediately, “Passcode is 1024, just. I don’t want to read them.”

Bitty is quiet for a few minutes, then sits down next to Will again. He hands the phone back; there’s a good sized crack in the screen from where it hit the floor. “I’m sorry,” he says. Will’s not sure if he means the crack in the phone screen or his mom. He’s sure those texts were awful. His hand returns to Will’s knee. “Now, I don’t know what that boy Nursey said, but I’ll make sure you have a place to sleep here tonight. Okay?”

 

\--

 

Will is on edge after the party. He knows his mom is in Boston somewhere, and it makes him sick. He’s blocked her number, but every time his phone goes off he jumps. He feels itchy under his skin, like he needs to leave, go somewhere far away.

He’s not sure if Bitty told anyone what happened, but Derek has been texting him. They talk almost constantly, but Derek stays away from personal topics, almost on purpose. Each text makes him feel warm and wanted, better than Seth ever made him feel, but he can’t help the gnawing anxiety that if he tells Derek anything about his mom, he’ll ditch him before he even finishes a sentence.

He’s at the shop on a Friday night in January, around 6, when the door chimes open and Will glances up to see Derek coming through the door. They’ve seen each other a few times since the party, when Derek and the other guys from SMH come up to shop or see a movie, but he hasn’t seen him alone since they went to coffee.

Will finds himself smiling as Derek approaches the counter. “Hey,” he says, setting the book he was flipping through down.

Derek smiles back, “Hey.” He knocks his knuckles against the counter. “Um, so when do you get off?” He seems nervous in his weird  _ chill _ way, and it makes Will’s stomach flip unpleasantly, running away with the possibilities.

“Riley’s in the back, so I can go now,” he says, moving his book to the drawer under the register. “Why?”

“Chill. Um, well there was a movie I wanted to see and I was...Do you wanna come?” He heaves out a huge breath, plastering on a smile again.

Will feels himself flush, watches Derek’s eyes track the color as it blooms up his neck and across his face. “Um, sure. Let me tell Riley.”

 

\--

 

They walk to the theater together, closer than is strictly necessary. Will is hyper aware of his hands. When Derek loosely tangles their fingers together and pulls him along, his heartbeat roars in his ears for the rest of the walk.

Derek insists on paying for everything, and they take a seat near the back of the theater. Derek mentions something about how it’s the movie based on his favorite book of late, but Will’s brain short circuited as soon as Derek hooked his ankle behind Will’s and pressed their shoulders together.

They don’t talk through the movie, Derek engrossed in the plot and Will in his anxiety. He’s been stuck in the cycle of  _ Derek doesn’t know _ and  _ I can’t tell him _ and  _ what if I tell him _ and  _ if I tell him he’ll hate me _ and  _ if I tell him he’ll pity date me  _ since Derek had casually mentioned during the previews that he’d been wanting to ask Will on a date for weeks.

When the movie is over, they walk back to the store together, still holding hands. Will stops them at the base of the stairs to his apartment, turning back to face Derek. He sucks in a breath when he realizes how close they’re standing. How Derek is trying not to look at his mouth.

“This was fun,” Derek says, quiet. He wraps the hand not entangled with Will’s around the cut of his hip under his coat, curls his fingers into the fabric of Will’s sweater. He’s not even trying to hide how he’s staring at Will’s mouth now.

“Yeah, I--” Will starts.

“Can I kiss you?” Derek asks, cutting him off. He bites his lip.

Will licks his lips, lingers on his lip piercings. “Um, yes--” before he’s even finished, Derek presses them together in a searing kiss, warm against the cold air. Derek’s hand moves up to Will’s neck from where it was holding his hand, curling into the hair at the nape of his neck. He pulls them together, uses the hand at his neck to press in closer.

Derek tastes like the butter he had on his popcorn, Will thinks idly, as he reaches out and settles a hand on Derek’s side, lets Derek lick across where his piercings are, even though he’s never gotten over how weird that feels.

It’s great, honestly. But the anxiety is still clawing its way up Will’s throat, makes him pull back, breathing hard. Derek’s eyes are wide and dark. Will can feel his lip piercings tingle, aware of them like he almost never is.

“Sorry,” Will says, looking down.

Derek hums a confused noise, pauses. Then, “ _ I  _ kissed  _ you _ , dude.”

He tries to lean back in, but Will takes a step back, his ankles hitting the bottom step. Derek’s hands fall off his neck and hip. He misses the warmth immediately, but doesn’t step back. “I mean…” He trails off, looking up to meet Derek’s eyes. He looks hurt, just a little. Will’s stomach twists, then he decides. “Do you want to come inside? Not….like that. But I just. Come inside. Please.” Derek follows him up the stairs.

Inside, Will sits on the floor, leaning against his bed, while Derek sits next to him, carefully not touching. “Look, Will, I’m sorry if I--” Derek starts, forcing his  _ chill _ smile back on.

“At that party you invited me to,” Will cuts him off, staring at the wall ahead of him. “Did Bitty tell you what happened?”

Derek is quiet for a minute, then. “A little.”

“My mom,” he starts, pulling his knees up to his chest in comfort. “I grew up in a crazy religious family. My mom--” he tries again, hating the feeling of tears behind his eyes. “She was abusive and...I left home when I was 18. She showed up here a few months ago, when I was still dating my ex. Called me a fag. Seth told her to fuck off, but she was texting me that night, at that party. She called me and I answered like the fucking  _ idiot _ I am, and she said that there was a  _ place for people like me _ , like a fucking conversion camp or something--” he cuts himself off, breathing hard again. The tears are spilling over, and he presses his head back against the foot of the bed, shaking.

“Hey,” Derek says, shifting closer and putting a tentative arm around Will’s shoulder. Will sinks into the contact more than he thought he would, the weight pleasant and comforting. “You’re not an idiot. She’s your mom, you’re allowed to care.” Derek pulls him closer.

Will takes as deep a breath as he can. “I broke up with Seth over it. I told him about her a year after I left, and he forgot. When she showed up, he asked me who she was, then got upset that he had to ‘stand up for me.’ We got into a huge fight, he punched me, and I kicked him out.”

Derek huffs a breath out. “Shit.” He’s quiet for a minute, then. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

He’s not sure how to start the next part of this conversation. “I like you,” he starts, still looking at the wall. He can feel Derek’s eyes on him.

“I like you, too,” Derek says, smiling softly.

“But I… Thinking about dating you makes me feel like I’m going to be sick.” Will lets his words sit in the quiet of his apartment for a minute. “I don’t want my mom to--” he can’t finish his thought, the panic clawing back up his throat as he takes a few quick, aborted breaths. “She hurt me, and I don’t--”

“Hey, stop, it’s okay,” Derek says, pulling Will close into a hug. “We don’t have to do anything. It’s okay.”

They sit like that for a while, then Will pulls back, sniffling. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles from where he’s pressed against Derek’s shoulder.

Derek runs a hand through his hair, fingernails scratching at the base of his scalp. “It’s okay. Not gonna lie, a little disappointed,” he presses a kiss into Will’s hair when he sniffles, “but it’s okay.”

Derek spends the night, hugs Will goodbye in the morning. While Will is opening the shop in the morning, he gets a text from Derek, a link to an article about the real meaning of Taylor Swift’s album  _ reputation _ , something they’ve been discussing, and a link to a psychologist’s website, with a caption:

_ From: Derek  
_ _ she got me thru all of high school, check her out if u want _

Will smiles and bookmarks the site.

 

\--

 

Going to Nikki is weird, at first. She asks him awkward questions like what does he expect from her, and why does he never talk about his dad, and why does his mother make him so anxious?

It gets better. He starts to feel better. Not great, but better.

Derek has been around more and more since their date. They’re not dating, that thought still makes Will feel sick, but they spend a lot of time together. Will is at the Haus or Derek and Chowder are at his apartment most weekends, and SMH has caused a huge uptick in the store’s business.

Derek’s birthday comes around faster than Will thought, and they throw a huge party (“It’s a kegster, Will, for the last time.”) on Valentine’s Day weekend.

Will’s been to a few more of these since his disastrous first party ( _ kegster _ , he corrects himself), but he’s never gotten that drunk again. Derek, clearly already a few drinks in, drags him inside when he shows up an hour late, grinning widely in his loose-neck white t-shirt that’s already clinging to his shoulders and abs with sweat and  _ wow _ does Will need a drink.

He pulls Will into a close hug. “I’m so glad you could come!” he says, directly into Will’s ear. A shiver runs down his spine. “Do you want a drink?”

Will shrugs, nods, and lets Derek drag him to the drink station. He does two shots of fireball, ignoring Derek’s comment about how  _ of course you like fireball _ and pours himself a cup of tub juice. His phone is on silent this time; he’s prepared.

When he turns around, Derek has disappeared into the crowd, dancing, but is watching Will over the shoulder of a girl who’s dancing next to him. He motions for him with a beckoning finger, and Will rolls his eyes, but winces and chugs the rest of his tub juice, sets down the cup, and goes to join him.

Dancing while sober, Will knows, is awful. However, dancing while drunk, especially when you’re dancing with the boy you definitely like but have a panic attack every time you think about dating, is much more fun. Will is sweaty and it feels like Derek is all around him, his arms wrapped around Will’s neck and Will’s around his waist as they move to the music. The panic is still there, but Nikki has been helping him work through it. He’s accepted that he’s anxious. Maybe one day he can move past it.

Someone bumps into Will from behind, forcing him into Derek, and suddenly they’re pressed flush together from knee to shoulder, staring straight into each other’s eyes. Will’s eyes flick to Derek’s mouth almost automatically when he licks his lips, and Will swallows. Derek’s eyes track the movement.

Derek looks like he’s about to say something over the music, but Will surges forward, kisses him suddenly. Derek makes a surprised noise into the kiss, the vibration pleasant against Will’s mouth, then tightens his hands in Will’s hair, holding him close. Will presses closer, moving to kiss where Derek’s jaw meets his neck. Derek throws his head back, allowing Will closer access. They’re less dancing now and more slowly grinding to the music in a corner, Derek almost pressed against the wall, which Will tries not to fixate on. He likes Derek, he shouldn’t worry about people knowing, or his mom finding out somehow, or--

He suddenly pulls away, feeling the anxiety clawing back up his throat. He takes a few choking breaths, and Derek puts a hand on his shoulder, looking him in the eye. There’s something in his eyes that makes Will blurt out “Sorry,” even though they’ve talked so many times about how he doesn’t need to apologize for this.

The corner of Derek’s mouth quirks down, just a touch. “It’s fine,” he says. Something in his voice makes him think it’s really, really not.

 

\--

 

Kevin calls a week later, asking about Twenty One Pilots, and if Will knows who they are. They’re having a concert in Boston in April, and Kevin has three tickets. They’re Will’s, if he wants them. Things with Derek have been weird since the party, and Will wants it to be better. He’s trying to be better. It’s taking time, though.

He texts Derek when he hangs up with Kevin, and he almost immediately replies.

_ From: Derek  
_ _ dude!!! hell yes _

_ From: Me  
_ _ I have three tickets, so you can invite someone _

_ From: Derek  
_ _ ill see if c wants 2 come _

Will tries not to think about how relieved he is that Chowder will be coming. He doesn’t think he can handle going anywhere with Derek alone. Not right now.

 

\--

 

He’s been avoiding telling Nikki about Derek. It feels too personal, almost, to share that with her.

After the party, he finally tells her in cryptic terms. There’s a boy he likes, but can’t date.

She seems confused. “Why can’t you date him?”

He rubs his thumb across the mug of tea she poured for him at the beginning of the session. “I don’t know. I want to, but… We’ve talked, and he understands it, I guess.”

“Understands what?”

Will stares at a spot on the wall, works on breathing like he’s been practicing. Nikki told him he feels sick when he thinks about his mother because he forgets to breathe. He has to remember. “I broke up with my last boyfriend because of my mom.”

“With Seth?”

“Yeah. He was upset that I wouldn’t stand up to her. We got in a fight and he punched me, so I kicked him out.”

Nikki smiles. “Did your mom make Seth punch you?”

“No.”

“Why are you blaming her, when he chose to punch you?”

Will is quiet, sipping the last of his tea. Nikki speaks up from her chair after a minute, when it’s clear Will isn’t going to respond. “What I’m getting at, Will, is that if your mom’s  _ not  _ the reason your last relationship ended, why is she stopping you from being in a new one?”

It gives him something to think about.

 

\--

 

The thing is, Will definitely remembers Derek saying that Chowder was coming to the concert, but when he looks back through his texts with Derek, and even with Chowder, the confirmation isn’t there.

So when Derek shows up outside his apartment, his fingers entwined with some other guy (Andre, he learns), he feels like he’s been punched in the stomach.

But Andre is great. He’s nice, and interested not only in what Derek says, but what Will says as well. Doesn’t give him a weird look when he says he never went to college, like some of the other Samwell students have. They’re cute when Derek makes a joke and Andre presses a kiss to his cheek.

Will still feels sick, though. Every time Andre talks, or Will notices how they’re  _ still holding hands _ , or Derek lets a casual pet name slip, Will can feel the ball of nerves in his chest get tighter. More compact. Closer to his throat.

“How long have you been together?” Will finds himself asking as they wait for the opening act. He hates himself. What a fucking masochistic question.

Derek eyes him carefully while Andre answers. “About two months, right babe?” he says, turning to smile at his boyfriend.

Will tries not to think about how two months ago was Derek’s party, about how they made out in a corner until Will nearly had a panic attack. Again. Derek raises an eyebrow at him when he doesn’t respond.

“Oh,” Will finishes lamely, turning back to watch the stage.

The opening act comes out on stage, but he can’t focus, still thinking about how Derek and Andre have been together since that party. How things have been weird with Derek; he didn’t even know Derek was dating someone for two months.

He shifts, standing slightly behind Derek and Andre, watching Derek watch the show. The opener finishes their set, and Will watches as Derek practically starts to  _ vibrate _ with excitement.

Andre excuses himself to use the bathroom, leaving Derek and Will together.

“He’s nice,” Will says from behind Derek. Can’t quite get his voice to sound genuine.

Derek picks up on the tone, eyes him as he turns around. “I don’t owe you shit, Will.”

He’s right, Will knows he’s right, but he can’t help it. “I thought--”

Derek cuts him off. “What, that I would wait forever for you to sort your shit out?” He turns to look at Will. “I’m not just here for you, Will. I have to think about myself, too.” The hurt in his voice adds more to Will’s anxiety with every word.

“I know, but I--I’ve been working on it,” Will says, more to himself than anything.

“Okay. I hope you’re doing that for you, not because you think I want you to.”

“Do you not want me to?” Will asks, sharp.

“It’s chill you’re working out your shit, but I like him,” Derek says, motioning towards where Andre went. “And I can’t handle the on-and-off, hot-and-cold shit, Will. I have problems of my own.”

Will blinks, aware that he doesn’t know any of Derek’s problems. “I… didn’t know,” he says. “You never said.”

Derek waves across the room to where Andre is heading back from the bathroom. “You never asked.”

 

\--

 

Will gets back to his apartment after the show to a text from Derek, sent just after Derek and Andre got on the train back to Samwell.

_ From: Derek  
_ _ im glad we can still b friends _

It hurts more than it should, really.

 

_ \-- _

  
During a session, Nikki tells him that he should try to talk to his mother. A month ago, Will thinks he would have walked out at the suggestion. Now, he chokes down the anxiety, lets it sit in his stomach. It’s uncomfortable, but it’s not going away any time soon. Might as well get used to it. She suggests a letter, if the thought of talking to her directly is too much. She helps him with the first part, leaves him to complete the rest on his own. He’s ready, she says.

When he gets home, he sits and writes.

_ It would be easy for me to hate you. You did a lot of fucked up shit to me when I was growing up, and I think I might have hated you for a while. But I’m trying to move past that, so. Here I am. _

_ In high school, that one day when you got mad at me for skipping history class, I was having sex with Josh Skinner in the book storage closet during class. I came to Boston and dated another boy for three years. I probably would have married him, but he was a little bit too much like you for my taste. I’m trying to make something work with another boy now, who I really like. Maybe I could love him one day. _

_ I’m gay, Ma. I know you think I’m going to Hell and you want to be able to see me in Heaven because you apparently love me and care about my relationship with The Lord, but I’m not sure I want that. I don’t think I want to spend an eternity with someone who called her own son a faggot, then quoted scripture about how she was just being Godly. _

_ You put me through so much shit. I tried to date this boy, Derek, or I’m trying to. I kept thinking  _ What if Ma finds out? _ or _ What would Ma do to him? _ and I can’t believe I let you have that power over me. But you don’t get that anymore. _

_ I guess I’m trying to get closure. I deserve that, at least. _

_ It would be so fucking easy for me to hate you, but I can’t. You’re my mother, and there were good times, too. You raised me, you love me in your own way. I guess. _

_ But you don’t get to have a place in my life. Not after everything. Delete my number, don’t come to my house or to the store. _

_ Goodbye, Ma. _

When he finishes, he addresses and stamps the letter, sticks it in the outgoing mail pile for the store, forcing himself not to overthink it.

He grabs his phone from where he left it on his bed and opens his text thread with Derek, tries not to wince when he sees the last message ( _ i’m sorry _ ) was sent by him almost two weeks ago with no response.

He starts to tap out a message, then decides against it. He stuffs his phone in his pocket, grabs his coat and keys and heads out the door.

 

\--

 

No one is at the Haus when Will gets there. He pounds on the door twice, though, just to make sure. He hasn’t spoken to Derek since the concert, so he has no idea if classes are even still meeting. He might be gone, fuck.

Will sits on the steps, leaning against the creaky railing and closing his eyes for a minute. He hears footsteps a few minutes later and opens his eyes, standing.

It’s Bitty, standing in the yard with another guy at least twice his size--Will realizes with a start that it’s Jack Zimmermann and feels starstruck until he realizes that Bitty asked him something.

“Huh?” he says intelligently, winces.

Bitty frowns, concerned. “Is everything okay, Will?”

“Yeah, is, uh… Is Derek here?”

“I think he’s just finishing up his last final, so he’ll be back over soon. Why don’t you come inside? Jack and I were just fixin’ to have some pie. You’re welcome to join us.”

Bitty ushers Will inside to the kitchen, where he sits next to Jack at the table. Bitty sets a plate of pie in front of both of them, then goes to the oven to fiddle with something. Will eyes Jack next to him carefully as he eats, then to his horror blurts out, “You should’ve gone first in the draft.” He feels the flush bloom across his face as Jack chuckles, then of course that’s when Derek literally  _ falls _ into the kitchen.

“Yo, Bits, Jack--” he says as he falls, catching himself on the edge of the table. As he pulls himself up he looks straight at Will, and the flush reignites. “Oh, hey Will,” he says, all casual. Chill.

“Hey,” Will responds lamely. His slice of pie remains untouched on his plate. He cuts a piece off to have something to do, somewhere to look other than Derek’s face.

“Are you, um… Nothing happened?” Derek asks, letting Bitty manhandle him into a seat across from Will and hand him a plate of pie.

“No,” Will says, taking another bite of pie when he realizes that  _ damn _ this is good. “I wanted to talk.”

Derek takes a huge bite of his own pie and chokes a little on it when Will finishes. “Oh, uh yeah. Sure. We can talk. Chill.”

Derek leads him upstairs and out a window to what he calls the Reading Room, but what is actually the roof that overhangs the porch. Will is nervous one of them might fall, but Derek seems confident, sitting with his back against the window, his plate of pie balanced on his knees. Will mirrors him, sitting a comfortable distance away, finishing the last of his pie and setting the plate between them.

“What did you want to--” Derek starts.

“I’m sorry,” Will interrupts.

Derek is quiet. “I got your text,” he finally says. They don’t make eye contact.

“I mean for expecting so much from you. That was fucked up of me.”

“It was, I agree.”

“I thought… I don’t know. I’ve never had a healthy relationship before. Still working on how to do that.”

“Your mom fucked you up pretty bad,” Derek says, an edge of something in his voice that Will can’t define.

Will sighs. “ I mean, yes, but that’s not the point. I came to tell you I was sorry for all that shit, and to see how you were. Since I don't--didn't do that enough.”

“I’m chill. It’s finals.”

“I feel like those two things don’t go together.”

Derek snorts. “And you say you never went to college.” He pauses. “Not gonna lie, finals make me feel like dropping out of college and moving to a hovel in the South of France where I can spend my days carving fancy soap. But I think I did okay. Passing, at least.”

Will turns to face him instead of leaning against the window. “I’m glad. I failed English in high school, so I don’t get how you can major in it.”

They’re quiet for a while, Will watching the leaves sway on a nearby tree. He breaks the silence eventually, hating the way his stomach flips when he asks, “How’s Andre?”

Derek gives him a knowing look that says he appreciates the effort, at least. “I don’t know. He broke up with me.”

Will’s stomach flips again, something like hope settling in his chest, which he pushes down. Not the time. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he says, putting as much sympathy as he can into his voice. “What happened? I mean. If you wanna talk about it.”

“Not really.” He’s quiet for a minute, then, “I think it was about you, on some level. He knew there was something going on, especially after the concert.” He finishes the last of his pie and sets the plate on top of Will’s, turning to face him. “I meant it when I said I can’t do the hot and cold shit, Will.”

“I know,” Will says, running a hand through his hair. “I was, um,” he trails off, looking away, then back to Derek. “I was hoping we could be friends, first.”

They sit there, just talking, until it’s dark and the crickets are chirping almost louder than they’re talking. Derek tells Will about growing up with two moms, about his life at Andover as the only black kid in his year. Having parents who accept him for who he is didn’t mean shit to the kids at his school, Derek says. His description about his need to be  _ chill _ , to let everything just roll past his ears as he plasters on that fake smile sounds eerily similar to Will’s constant, clawing anxiety.

He describes the time he was walking back to his moms’ house at night and a police officer stopped him, just because he was black. How his heart was in his ears when he checked Derek’s ID, walked him to the door, his hand on his gun. How he doesn’t go out alone after dark anymore. Will feels the sudden need to apologize again, and Derek just hums in response.

They’re quiet for a few moments, and Will laughs, thinking about his life and Derek’s. “We’re pretty fucked up, huh,” he says, just noticing how their shoulders are pressed together now, the pie plates set inside the window at some point.

Derek hums. “Pretty fucked up, yeah.”

 

\--

 

Riley has to go home for the summer, something with her family, which leaves Will to run the store alone. Kevin is out of the country again, and says in their one conversation before he drops off the grid that he can hire someone else if he wants. He has that authority.

Will decides that he doesn’t want to go through the trouble of hiring and training a brand new person, only for them to work for two and a half months, so he has to stay in Boston for the whole summer.

Derek seems disappointed when Will tells him.

“I was gonna invite you to stay with me in New York for a week-end or something,” he says, rummaging through a display of vintage records. They’ve been better about talking since that night. Derek finished with his finals earlier than most students, so he’s sticking around for a little while after the semester was over. Today’s his last day in town though, and he’s spending it with Will, alone, rather than any of his other friends. Will tries not to think too hard about that.

“Sorry,” Will says, frowning. “I wish I could.”

“Yeah, me too,” Derek says.

 

\--

 

Two weeks after Derek leaves, Will gets a text from him at 1 a.m., waking him up.

He checks it, blinking at the bright light in the dark of his apartment.

_ From: Derek  
_ _ hav i e ver told u i thin=k ur tattioos r hawt _

Another text comes in before he can even process what the first one says.

_ From: Derek  
_ _ also i love alchioawl _

_ From: Derek  
_ _ alc oho ll*8 _

Ignoring the way his stomach is swooping pleasantly at the first message, he taps out a response.

_ From: Me  
_ _ Drink some water _

_ From: Derek  
_ _ i am _

_ From: Derek  
_ _ jus go t homea frm a thagning,, wabted 2 textp u 4 i passed out kuulolollol _

_ From: Me  
_ _ go to sleep, Derek _

_ From: Derek  
_ _ i cnaant’ i ;miss u _

Will can’t fall back asleep after that.

 

\--

 

It’s the middle of August, two weeks before Derek gets back, and Will is minding his own damn business, running the store on a slow Tuesday, when the door chimes open and in strolls his mother.

He tries to remember to breathe. She has a paper in her hand, his letter. For once in his life, he can’t read the expression on her face.

“Billy,” she starts, “I’m--”

“Get out,” he says, staring her dead in the eye. Remembering to breathe. He’s been working on that. He feels less sick than before.

“I got your letter,” she says, stepping up to the counter.

“I’ll call the police,” he warns, taking out his phone, holding it like a life-line.

“Billy, I,” she starts, angry, then pauses. “Can I say one thing?”

He unlocks the phone and taps to the phone keypad, setting it where she can see. “Fine. One thing.”

She takes a deep breath, meets his eyes. “I...I’m sorry you feel this way.” She gestures to the letter. “Like I was a bad mother. I tried my best, but you were a difficult child. Just know I’m praying for you.” She gives him a last sad look, then leaves. What the fuck.

Will sits there for a minute, shocked. He can’t believe that… He picks up his phone on autopilot, taps to his contacts, calls the first person he can think of.

Derek picks up on the third ring with a cheerful, “Hey!”

“Um,” is all Will can manage to get out. He thinks he might be hyperventilating. Everything sounds like he’s hearing it through a pillow.

“What’s up?” Derek asks. Will hears a door close on Derek’s end of the phone call, the background quiets.

“My mom,” he starts. “She was, um. She was just in the store.”

“Shit, Will,” he says, sucking in a breath. “Are you okay?” There’s more rustling on Derek’s end, then a mumbled  _ No, this is important _ from Derek to someone else. Will remembers that Derek has an internship with a big publishing house, is probably there right now.

“Shit, you’re at work, I’m sorry.”

“They’ll get over it. Are you okay?” he asks again.

“I think so,” Will says, forcing himself to take a deep breath. He can hear again, all at once. He flips the sign on the window of the shop from open to closed. “I just need to process it.”

“What did she say?”

“I wrote her this letter a while ago, and she had it with her. She said she was sorry I felt like that. That she did her best with me, but I was a  _ difficult child _ . She’s praying for me. Then she left.” It feels better to say it, Will finds.

“Wow,” Derek says.

“Yeah,” Will replies. “Thank you.”

“It’s chill.”

 

\--

 

Derek shows up that night at 11, his mama’s car parallel parked on the street in front of the store. He has takeout from the Greek place in New York he keeps telling Will about, which he drops on the kitchen counter when Will lets him inside before pulling him into a long hug.

“I’m sorry,” he says into the hug.

“What are you doing here?” Will asks once they’ve settled around his tiny table, sharing the cold takeout.

“My internship was over this week, anyway. I left a few days early. I figured being here was more important.”

“You didn’t have to--”

“I want to be here, Will,” Derek cuts him off, effectively ending that conversation. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”

“My mom was shit at being a mom,” Will says, like he’s just realizing it. He steals a bite of Derek’s falafel, chewing thoughtfully.

Derek laughs, just a little. “That’s fair.”

“She almost broke my arm when I didn’t get into a college that she applied to for me,” he says, laughing around a bite of salad. “How fucked up is that?”

Derek bites his lip, watches Will for a minute. “But you’re… you’re good?” He gives him a significant look, like maybe he’s asking about more than just his relationship with his mom.

“Yeah, I think I am.”

Derek just grins back, stealing a fry from Will’s plate.

They share Will’s bed that night, and Will wakes up to Derek spread half across the bed and half across his chest. He smiles, drifting in and out of sleep until Derek stirs, mumbling something into Will’s chest.

“Morning,” Will says, quiet in the soft morning light.

“Hey,” Derek responds, rolling off to his side to look at Will. “Sleep well?”

“I still like you,” Will finds himself blurting out instead. He feels the flush bloom up from his neck, watches Derek’s eyes trace it. He wants to look away, but he’s just masochistic enough to keep watching Derek watch him.

A smile spreads across Derek’s mouth, slow. “Do you?” His arm comes up to rest on Will’s waist as he shuffles closer, his breath fanning across Will’s face.

Will does look away now. “Can’t believe I said that,” he mumbles.

Derek’s smile morphs into a full grin, teeth and all. “Yeah, me neither.”

“Fuck you,” Will says, rolling his eyes.

“We’ll have to see about that,” Derek mumbles, leaning in to close the distance between them in a sweet kiss.  
  
Will thinks  _ this is where I'm supposed to be. _

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Will's mom is physically and emotionally abusive, he dates an abusive guy, homophobic language, anxiety attacks, people get punched
> 
> edit: some ramblings: this fic was a product of growing up in a very christian (although not physically abusive) home and the past year, which was pretty much the worst of my life. i moved to a new place & didnt know anyone, thought my job was great until i actually started it, and realized id never been more miserable (and probably depressed lbr) in my life. that said, writing this was so cathartic. & if ur experiencing something like i was last year...i put in a lot of effort to moving and staying positive and finding a new job where i actually know & like people there & it got better for me. it can for u too :)
> 
> come hang with me on tumblr where I'm justadecoydream :)


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